


this postcard tells you where we’ve been

by thesilverwitch



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Angst, Drabbles, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverwitch/pseuds/thesilverwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short drabbles and stories about Xabi and Steven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the words unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Rating on these goes from PG to R, just so everyone knows.

Alright, so here’s their story:

In another world, another universe, another dimension, where everything was the same and everything was different, they would have grown up together, would have grown old together, would have only known each other for five minutes. They would have played in the same club until they both retired, would have died in each other’s arms as the world froze, would have died miles apart as the world burned.

In another time, the words unspoken would cost them their happiness and the words said would cost them their lives.

One decision can change everything, just as it can change nothing. That’s one of those things nobody ever thinks about until they’re driving down an empty road at three a.m. and suddenly see a car coming from the left too fast, too careless, and they know, if they’d been a minute late or a minute early, this wouldn’t be happening. They wouldn’t be dying. In countless other universes, where only little thing is different, they’d live. In countless others, they’re already dead.

The theory of the multiverse is exactly that -- a theory. It’s meaningless, completely meaningless, except for how Steve thinks about it all the time. He read about it once, some silly article in one of those free magazines they had in train stations. Something about it had caught his eye, and he ended up reading it once, twice, a final third time seemed to seal the deal and permanently stick the concept to the confines of his mind.

In another world, he thinks, we grew up in the same country, and these grey skies and wet roads are the ones Xabi calls home. In another universe, I never even met him, and I wouldn’t be feeling like this right now.

He shakes his head. Some things change from world to world, but some others don’t. He thinks meeting Xabi is one of the latter. He can’t say why, but, well, he can, actually. He’d just rather not.

Some things are better left unsaid.

 

(He too often thinks about the day Xabi left, when Steven missed him by just a couple of seconds. He'd rushed to the airport, an endless testimony on the tip of his tongue, ready to roll out as soon as he saw Xabi, never mind who else was there watching. Steven was going to ask him to stay. He was going to tell Xabi he loved him. He _was_ , but he'd been too late and afterwards he just couldn't do it. He'd missed his moment.

One minute too early or one minute too late. That's all it takes for worlds to fall apart.

He'd never doubt that again.)


	2. just tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the WC2010.

_just tonight I will stay_  
_and we'll throw it all away,_  
_when the light hits your eyes_  
_it's telling me I'm right_  
_and if I am through_  
_then it's all because of you_

 

He pushes him against the wall with too much force, a dull anger roaring in his arteries that's made him careless and maybe even a little bit vicious. He hears Steven's skull connect against the cheap plaster, a sharp knock nothing alike the dull sound the rest of his body makes when it falls back on the wall. It must have hurt, Xabi thinks, and then a tired, mean grin slips from his lips without him noticing.

He’s not normally like this, but tonight is different. Tonight he wants this. He wants to see the open hunger in Steven's eyes; wants to turn him into a babbling, wanton mess; wants to see him hurt and happy and laughing and desperate all because of Xabi, wants to reduce the universe to nothing but them in this too small room in a drowned out city that neither of them care for.

He's pathetic. His desires are pathetic. He feels like a drowning man, searching for an oasis in an endless sea.

He pulls the zipper down with his teeth in an easy, practiced move. It's dumb and childish and obvious that he just wants to show off, but Steven's breath seems to pick up because of it, so maybe it wasn't such a dumb move after all. He traces the contours of Steve’s dick through the fabric of his boxers to the pace of his own breath, moving with every exhale so slowly that what he’s doing can’t be described as anything but teasing. A harsh sound leaves Steven’s lungs and Xabi lets out a real grin this time.

 _Joder_ , he'd missed this.

He spares the unlocked door a last look, wonders about the odds of someone coming in and seeing the two of them like this. What would they think, if they saw them now, in an empty conference room with the lights off, Steven against the wall facing the door and Xabi on his knees in front of him. They should be at a press party with everyone else, something boring and pointless before the World Cup starts, except as soon as Xabi saw Steven he pulled him aside because he had to, he _had_ to. Anyone can come in, one of their teammates or a staff member or worse, a journalist. Part of Xabi is terrified of the thought, but another part of him wants it, craves it, bleeds for it.

"Xabi," Steven says, half a moan, half a whisper. He sounds almost sad, as if he knows what Xabi's thinking and this is his way of saying _don't_.

Xabi doesn't look up, embarrassed about his own thoughts and being caught red-handed. He feels himself blush and then he does the only thing he can to hide it by pulling Steven's boxers down and swallowing him to the root.


	3. starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High school AU. I could try to explain this, but honestly there's not much to say except for 'I really, really like high school AUs, ok?'

_oh my, what a marvelous tune_  
_it was the best night_  
 _i would never forget how we moved_  
_and we were dancing_  
_like we're made of starlight_

 

They stay at prom for exactly one hour, thirty-four minutes and seventeen seconds. Steven knows this because he’s just glanced at the big clock above the stage when Xabi grabs his hand and leans into his ear to whisper, “Let’s go.”

“We haven’t even seen the main act,” Steven replies, but he doesn’t really care about whatever shitty band his school hired this year. He’s smiling, unable to stop himself, and Xabi is smiling too. They’ve both drunk on the punch, and it wouldn’t be prom if the punch wasn’t spiked, so they’re both feeling loose and without a care in the world.

“I can sing for you. I’m better.” Xabi’s accent covers all of his words languorously, more prominent than usually is because of the alcohol flowing in his veins. Steven’s never heard him sing or thought about it, but now that Xabi’s mentioned it, it’s all he wants to do. Xabi’s voice is throaty, with a heavy quality to it. It must sound amazing when he sings.

They take Steven’s car and drive with no place in mind for them to go. One of Xabi’s hand rests on Steven’s knee and the other is fiddling with the radio, browsing through all the stations until Xabi finds what he’s looking for and lets out a triumphant, “Ah!”

Xabi starts to dance to it almost immediately, as well as one can dance sitting in a cramped seat, which means he’s just wiggling and moving his arms with the most ridiculous expression of pleasure on his face. Alright, so maybe Xabi had drunk a little more than Steven, who doesn’t even recognize the music playing until something clicks in his head.

“Is this in Spanish? I didn’t even know this station existed,” Steven shakes his head. He can recognize a couple of the words after taking Spanish for three years--and what a bloody waste of time that was--and being around Xabi for six months--definitely not a waste of time.

“Stop the car! Stop!” Xabi yells, leaning over his seat to drape himself all over Steven and cut him off from the wheel. Steve shouts something like “Oi!” and pushes Xabi off as best as he can without letting go of the controls, slowing down and stopping near the side of the road.

Xabi’s out of the car before Steven can ask him what the bloody hell was that, but it’s not hard to guess his intentions when he leans inside to turn the radio all the way up.

“Really?” he asks, walking around the car to stand next to Xabi, who is dancing on the dirt like an absolute lunatic. At least they’re in the middle of nowhere, where no one can see them or be bothered by the drunk Spanish exchange student and his Scouser boyfriend.

“Dance with me, Stevie,” Xabi says as he laughs and pulls Steven against his chest, and Steven is not drunk enough for this, at all, but it’s prom, and in a few days school will end and Xabi will go home for the summer before he returns for university, a decision that has nothing to do with Steven and all to do with England’s phenomenal education system.

Steven’s not that looking forward to spending summer alone, but he is looking forward to September and to spending the last few days with Xabi enjoying themselves, and if that means dancing to Spanish music in the middle of nowhere, then that’s what he’s going to do.

Xabi lives up to his promise of singing Steven something, even if Steven has no idea what he’s saying he knows it’s dirty from the way Xabi is grinning and leaning against him to say, “ _Yo quiero estar contigo, vivir contigo, bailar contigo. Tener contigo una noche loca, ay besar tu boca_.” 


	4. the boy who blocked his own shot

He guards his expressions as carefully as one would guard a broken heart. People think its just who he is, reserved, calm, humble, and that’s the truth, or at least some of it. Because he also has the loudest laugh and he likes to pull little, friendly pranks that only he finds funny and he’s cried in front of the team, just once, but once is enough to show there’s a difference between someone who is naturally reserved and someone who is hiding.

Steven asks him about it. Once, just, he asks him once. It’s an innocuous question, and maybe it could have been worded a little better, but he hadn’t thought it over at the time. “How come you’re always hiding how you feel?” he asks, and Xabi’s small goes from small and genuine to bitter and forced in the space of a heartbeat.

He looks away, coughs once, twice, as if he’s clearing up a memory lodged in his throat, before he looks Steven in the eye and says, “I do not hide.”

Xabi’s English is good, but he still has trouble with contractions, especially when he’s nervous. He stumbles and mixes them together then, all the years of dismissing the language catching up to him like a car crash. Steven grimaces and regrets voicing his thoughts so carelessly. He hadn’t meant to make Xabi nervous.

He replies, something vague and polite so that he sounds like he’s in a press interview and not talking to Xabi, who is one of his teammates and a close friend and… a lot. Xabi, who is a lot. Steven laughs at the thought, which makes Xabi give him a strange look that turns into a closed glare before he walks off. Steven thinks about calling him back, but what would he say?

_Sorry, mate, I was just thinking about how much you matter to me and how little I still feel like I know about you because you’re always shielding and hiding, even if you say you’re not, I know you are._

Later, when he’s in his home, alone in his bedroom after Alex had decided to go out for a night in town with the girls, he thinks he’d been wrong. He _had_ meant to make Xabi nervous, even if he himself didn’t realize it. Xabi’s calm facade was always present, and Steven had selfishly wanted to get rid of it, even if only for one second.

Steven thinks about what this means, for him, before he realizes it’s time for a drink, or maybe two or three.

He ends up calling Xabi to go out with him, because drinking alone is depressing and miserable. Inviting Xabi defeats the purpose of avoiding to think about his thoughts and his thoughts in regards Xabi, but Steven’s never been one for the small details. That’s what the manager is for. At the end of the day, Steven’s always been all about skill and heart.

Skill and heart.

Xabi has both, even if he tries to hide one of them. He has both.

Steven decides not to bring it up again. Not everyone is like him, after all.

 


	5. now i do want you to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star Trek AU / PG / 1900 words

“Somebody get me engineering, I want to know what’s happening right  _now_ ,” Steven says, biting off the last word with a growl.

Even though none of this is Torres and Ramos’ fault, he’s still glaring at the back of their heads like he’s trying to set them on fire through the power of his glare alone. They’re the only ones in front of him, holding the helm as always, and Steven has to release his pent up frustration somehow or he’s going to explode.

“Yes, Captain,” Torres’ voice seems to shake with fear, and Steven feels bad for a second--Captain or not, he should be able to control himself better and not scare the shit out of his crewmembers--before he’s connected to Engineering and all his anger swims back up, side by side with and worry and always-- _always_ \--relief at seeing his Chief of Engineering standing all in one piece and breathing.

Xabi’s face is covered in soot and his eyebrows are pinched together in worry, making his eyes look small and tired. He looks like he’s just fought for his life against the Klingons in one of their war arenas, but despite all that he grins when he sees Stevie. He must be feeling the same as Steven. Anger and fear and worry and relief. Always relief.

In their line of duty, not a day goes by without someone letting out a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding, be it a happy sigh when they see their experiment in the science labs didn’t grow sentience overnight and try to kill the new ensigns; or, and unfortunately this was more common, when they see their fellow crewmembers alive and well after another quick chat and pat on the back from Death.

“What giant diabolical tribble has the universe thrown against my ship this week, Alonso?”

Xabi barks a laugh at Steven’s joke and Steven finds himself smiling despite the situation. The entire Federation could be in cahoots because of the Klingons, with planets exploding and stars being turned into weapons and everything just being bloody awful and miserable, and still Steven would find some kind of joy in making Xabi laugh. It’s a constant, a fact like Wrap 5 being faster than Wrap 4. Steven loves to make Xabi laugh and will go out of his way to do so. It’s simple and true.

He hopes this isn’t one of those things that later comes back to bite him in the ass, but knowing his luck, one they’ll be stuck in a boring diplomatic mission in a planet where laughing is forbidden, and Steven will forget where he is for one minute. He’ll turn to Xabi to say something stupid that never fails to make Xabi laugh like, _Next mission we’re telling Torres headbutting is how people greet each other_ , and then bam! They’ll all be sent to the dungeons, where they’ll die a lonely, sad death and be forever known as the idiots who got themselves arrested for laughing.

All in all, there are worse things to have written on your tombstone.

“Well, _Captán_ ,” Xabi says, butchering the pronunciation on purpose as he always does, “we were in pursuit by two Klingon warships two hours ago.”

“I know that,” Steven huffs. He’d been the one to give the orders to shoot, shoot and get the fuck away as quickly as possible. “I saw the reports on that. I meant why is our ship currently docked in the middle of the Delta Quadrant with all our shields are down, when our biggest worry one hour ago was getting Wrap 7 to function properly without the ship hull shaking like a leaf.”

“Virus,” Xabi says, not a moment of hesitation. He looks more serious than he usually does, which is saying a lot considering Xabi has the best serious face out of all of them.

“Virus?”

Xabi nods, as if the words are costing him his dignity, strength and life, even, “Virus from the Klingons. They sent it through ibsicolon waves while they were firing at us and it’s just now reached our servers.”

Steven spares himself a moment to think, _They can do that?_ , which, of course, he doesn’t word. He does say, “Can you fix it?”

Xabi opens his mouth to reply when something goes off in the background to his left. He turns around and shouts some truly impressive insults in Spanish that even the universal translator has trouble picking, all aimed at Reina, who runs past him not five seconds later holding what looks like a XG1 missile. Steven decides not to ask.

“Give me twenty minutes,” Xabi asks, grinning manically in a way Steven has now associated with _Danger! Danger! Xabi is about to do something brilliant that can probably get you all killed!_

He doesn’t give Steven a second to reply before he shuts off the connection. Steven sighs and rubs his forehead. He’s going to end up with enough forehead wrinkles to make a pug jealous by the time he’s forty if he keeps letting his crazy crewmembers wreck havoc in his ship like this.

Despite that, he still gives Xabi the twenty minutes he asked, and then another twenty after that.

What can he say? He’d make a rubbish Captain if he didn’t trust his crew.

Also, out of the sixteen times Xabi has given Steven that grin since they started their journey with the USS Liverpool two years ago, only two of those have resulted in somebody getting shot at, which beats most of their records by a landslide.

 

 

“That was, without a shadow of the doubt, one of the dumbest things you’ve ever done,” _and you’ve done your fair amount of dumb shit_ , he doesn’t add.

“It was innovative!”

Steven rolls his eyes and turns back to watching the stars. “No, it was dumb.”

“You believed in me,” Xabi says, leaning back on his elbows so that his face is out of sight.

It surprises Steven how confident Xabi sounds. He’s absolutely certain, without having gotten any kind of confirmation, that Steven had believed in him and his crazy plan of turning off half the ship’s main components to kill the virus and disassembling five torpedoes to use their energy cells as a power boost.

It’s true, anyway. Steven always believed in him, he just didn’t think Xabi had noticed.

Steven leans back as well, lying down on the cold bench. They’re in the fancy observatory room reserved for commanding officers, just the two of them as this room is only ever used when giving tours to guests and higher ups. Steven and Xabi had started coming here two years ago to talk. It’s the quietest place in the ship and nobody ever comes looking for them there, so it’s alway them and a wall of stars, infinity at their fingertips.

“Were you worried?” Xabi’s voice is quiet. He’s lying down now too, so that their faces are only a couple of inches apart. They can’t see the stars properly like this, but it’s not like either of them are looking right now.

“Was I worried when I heard there was an explosion in engineering, all the communications went off, half the ship died on my hands and I didn’t know what happened?” Steven makes sure he’s looking Xabi in the eye, sarcasm dripping from each and every one of his words. “What do you think, Alonso?”

He only ever uses Xabi’s last name when they’re on duty or when he’s angry, and he’s so mad at the moment that there’s practically steam coming out of his ears and it’s just--it’s exhausting, both mentally and physically. He’d known joining Starfleet was basically an indirect way of saying ‘ _Hey! Look at me! I love danger and I’m an idiot! Shoot me!_ ’ but he hadn’t thought about how tiring it'd; how after the fight and the danger dissipate your muscles aches and your bones seem to creak with every step you take. How you can’t help but to looki at everyone with wonder in your eyes because they’re alive, and you’re alive, and you’d feel amazing if this hadn’t been the third time this month you all almost went up in flames.

The worst part is that it’s not about just the ship and the crew. It should be. It should really be about them, plural, everyone included, except what Steven had wanted to say before was ‘ _and I didn’t know what happened **to you**?_ ’ and it sucks, basically, because Xabi’s a friend, his Chief of Engineering and nothing more. Not to mention that relationships between crew members are frowned upon and anything between the captain and someone else is just asking for trouble.

Xabi’s looking away when he says, “There wasn’t any time.”

“That’s a shit excuse and you know it.”

“I’m sorry,” he turns to his side and reaches for Steven’s hand, stroking the knuckles with his thumb. “I worry, too, you know? Every time you, Carra and the rest go down to a new planet and I’m stuck here watching you, unable to do anything if something happens to you.”

“You can always beam us back up, or come down to rescue us when somebody gets us in trouble.”

“Somebody?” Xabi’s grinning, but it’s a bittersweet grin, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s not always me!” Steven replies, trying to ignore the melancholy wrapped around them by pretending to be indignified.

“It’s not always you,” Xabi agrees, flashing Steven a real smile. He sounds like a parent agreeing with their kid just to make them happy, because their kid’s happiness is their own.

The thought causes a wave of pure fondness to hit Steven, who is completely defenceless against it. He can't help it. He’s so damn fond of Xabi Alonso Olano and everything the man does; the way he’s always smiling at Steven as if Steven’s existence alone is enough to make him content.

They’re getting closer now, and inside Steven’s head a mantra is repeating itself. _Asking for trouble, asking for trouble…_ Every inch of space that disappears between them is nothing but an invitation for trouble.

Steven tries to care about that, but it’s hard to do so when they’re leaning further into each other and Xabi is lying so close, and he’s alive and breathing and smiling and--

“I need to go,” the words come out of Steven’s mouth on instinct. He didn’t mean to say them, but his subconscious knows the warning signs better than he does.

He gets up, ready to flee, but there’s still a hand entwined with his grounding him there.

“Don’t,” Xabi says. He sits up and pulls Steven back to the bench. Steven goes without much resistance.

“We’re only asking for trouble.”

He’d never said that out loud before, never thought he needed to. Xabi’s eyes widen. If it’s out of surprise for hearing Steven say _that_ or finally for hearing it said out loud, Steven doesn’t know.

“It is not like that,” Xabi’s staring at his eyes, trying to will Steven to see his point through the sheer emotional force of his words alone.

Steven closes his eyes.

“It is like that. There is nothing to it, but that.”

This time, when he tries to leave, Xabi doesn’t hold him back.

 _It’s better this way_ , Steven tells himself, and wishes he really believed that.


	6. i wanna lock you up in my closet when no one's around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spies!AU / PG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly Marina's fault. Also my weird thought process when listening to Avril Lavigne songs, but mostly Marina (ILY).

The single, lonely lightbulb above their heads flickered once, twice, worked for another four seconds and then flickered for one last time before it went off.

“Great,” Steven muttered, “now we don’t even have light.”

Xabi made a small humming noise in agreement, but chose not to say anything. He tried to pull his knees closer to his chest, but they were already tucked in as close as possible. His beard scratched against the smooth fabric of his pants and his back ached from the awkward position it was stuck in. Xabi picked at the fabric on the hem of his pants, felt for the gun he had holstered in his right leg and the knife on his left and traced his fingers over their cool surfaces.

Of all the places Xabi wanted to be stuck in tonight, a claustrophobic, smelly closet with a jammed door and no light was probably the last on his list. Not that he’d had any plans for being stuck anywhere tonight, but he’s past caring about that right now.

He fucked up the mission and there was nothing else to be said about it. He’d already accepted that he was going to receive hell for it from Mourinho and a death glare from Iker later, and that he needed to conjure a good story for his report, but again, this didn’t bother Xabi.

What _did_ bother him was that he was stuck in a bloody closet with bloody Steven Gerrard, of all people, and that he was beginning to sound like an English person again, even though this was his first time stepping foot in England in three years and he’d only been in the country for five hours.

It was as if the universe itself had scratched its metaphorical beard and said, “What exactly can I do to give Xabi Alonso the worst possible headache known to mankind?”

The answer, the universe had found, was this.

“Stop it,” Steve said.

Despite knowing better than that, Xabi still took the bait and asked, “Stop what?”

“Stop all your incessant worrying and thinking. It’s annoying.”

Xabi felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his nostrils flare. “How is me thinking annoying you?“

“It just is, alright? It just is,” Steven sighed. Even though they were cast in near darkness, with the only light being the small fragments that escaped beneath the door, Xabi still saw Steven look away and rub a hand against his eyes like he used to.

Or maybe he was imagining things. Maybe what he saw were just years and years of repressed memories knocking on his doorstep. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Xabi had never been a fan of maybes.

“I don’t know how to not think,” he said to fill up the silence that had begun to stretch too tight around them.

“No,” Steven agreed, “you never did know a bunch of things.”

Xabi bristled again. He’d known Steven was going to try to pick up a fight the same way he knew how to slice someone’s throat without them even noticing, same way he knew how to breathe and walk. He’d known it because he knew Steven; because despite everything that happened between them, you don’t forget nights like Istanbul, when your blood was roaring your ears, and your very existence was throbbing with excitement, and you knew nothing would ever compare to the feeling of saving a thousand lives with a job well done.

He knew it because he could never forget it; even after all the years and the pain, the alcohol and the near-death experiences, and even a few happy moments, Xabi Alonso could never forget Steven Gerrard.

It was just the way it was, Xabi supposed. Some men were born destined for greatness. He’d been born a fool destined for a job with a short life expectancy.

“Am I supposed to apologise?” Xabi asked.

“Well, it sure as fuck wouldn’t hurt you, Xabi,” Steven spit out. He still pronounced Xabi’s name wrong, with his too soft ‘shh’ at the beginning and and the lingering ‘y’ at the end. Xabi hated that he noticed that, hated that he couldn’t help but feel a trace of fondness at the way Steven said his name, as if that was worth a damn.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said, but he knew it wouldn’t stick. Steven wouldn’t take that answer.

“That’s so bullshit. Of course you had a choice,” Steven said, as predicted.

“It wasn’t—“ Xabi cut himself off, frustrated that even now, after everything, he still couldn’t find the right words to explain himself to Steven. “I needed to go.”

“You needed to _leave_.”

“That’s not what I said,” Xabi glared at Steven, and then, since Steven couldn’t see him, kicked his legs. If Steven was going to act like a child, then so was he.

“That’s what you meant,” Steven said, kicking him back just as hard. After that they were off, kick was followed by another kick, soon followed by a punch and even a rather nasty headbutt.

Xabi revelled in the pain. He knew it was fucked up, knew he was fucked up, but could you blame him? After everything that he’d been through? He just wanted this now. The pain and the bitterness. He wanted to feel what his actions had done, years ago, masochist bastard that he was.

It was only when Steven threw an iron punch to his jaw that had him seeing stars for a couple of seconds, that he called, “Steven. Steven, stop.”

Steven froze, hands wrapped tight around the lapels of Xabi’s jacket from where they were about to make a dangerous climb. “You started it.”

“I know, and now I’m ending it,” Xabi pushed Steven’s hands off, gently but firmly. Steven let go with a huff, but no protest.

Xabi didn’t want to think about what it said about them that the silence after their fight was more comfortable and easy to bare than the silence from before.

“Anybody coming for you?” Steven asked after a couple of minutes.

“Not for another ten hours. You?”

“Seven.”

Xabi let his hand fall back against the door. The mission was meant to be an easy one. Infiltrate General Thompson’s lavish party, slip past the guards into the main office, steal a file named ‘TTL14’ from Thompson’s laptop and leave unnoticed. It would have all gone according to plan, too, if the MI6 and the CNI had any kind of working relationship, and hadn’t both made idiots of themselves by sending two agents to do the same job.

Excused to say, everything had gone to shit pretty quickly after Steven and Xabi realised what was happening, because hey, you know what’s not a great idea? Sending two former colleagues, whose last interaction was a fight that ended with an entire street in flames, to do the same mission.

They were lucky nothing exploded this time.

“They probably won’t find us for another three hours after that,” Xabi said. He wasn’t sure himself where they were. After stealing a car and driving away, they’d parked behind an abandoned warehouse and hidden in the first room they could find, aka, the musty closet with a broken lock.

“Yupe,” Steven agreed.

Xabi waited for him to say something else, but of course he didn’t. It looked like they were done talking.

The smart thing to do then would be for him to choose to remain silent as well, and appreciate the peace and quiet. However, Xabi knew that this was his last chance to fix things between them, and that even with the odds against him, he had to at least try. Their agencies wouldn’t be making the same mistake again.

“I had to leave. I know you don’t get it and I know you hate me for it, but it was something I had to do for myself and for my country.”

“You could have helped your country through the MI6,” Steven said, but Xabi could tell they were was no real conviction behind the words. It seemed as if the fight had drained them both.

“You know as well as I do that it wouldn’t have been the same,” Xabi ran a hand through his hair and then added, quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted Steven to hear the next words, “I didn’t mean to leave you.”

Steven laughed humourlessly. “And yet, you still did.”

Xabi nodded. And yet, he still did.

They spent the next couple of hours without saying a word between them. At some point Xabi fell asleep with his head tucked between his knees and a hand around his knife.

By the time he woke up, the door to the closet was open and the sun was already up. Steven was nowhere to be found. Xabi hadn’t expected him to stay.


End file.
